Gears clank and clamor.

Hands have fallen down.

What once chimed and cheered,

now lays silent in the eerie quiet.

We’ve lost the persistent tic.

Spiderweb fractures line the face.

A network of cracks holding hands.

The old tree dried and grey.

Splintering and falling apart.

We’ve lost the persistent tick,

We’ve lost the echoing toc.